


Cats and Dogs

by Ryellee



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Set during Season of Arrivals, drifter is terrible at his job but at least he's having fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29811519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryellee/pseuds/Ryellee
Summary: "I always wanted a pet Hive. The Ascendant Plane must have all kinds of... I’m oversharing."
Relationships: The Drifter & Eris Morn
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	Cats and Dogs

“…and Scorn guts are not that good for heating, they smell like motor oil when you rip ‘em open…”

Eris Morn grits her teeth and is by a hair's breadth from wishing on an ahamkara to be just anywhere else.

She is not a fool. Last time she had to go this deep into the Hellmouth by herself, she nearly lost a limb. This might have taught her an important lesson about self-sufficiency (or maybe just how much extra ammo she should pack), but vividly aware of her mortality as she is, abandoning old habits of independence has been an ongoing struggle.

At that point, with her reserves of materials drying up, she realised she needed a bodyguard – someone who would not question her task or tried to dissuade her from it. There were always some Guardians patrolling the Moon, in for an extra job if she had Glimmer to spare; she would trust none of them with her life, and knowing the recklessness some presented, dragging them into the dark could only lengthen the list of Luna’s casualties. She would not risk that. She needed someone reasonable, capable of assessing danger and not treating it lightly. Someone who could survive down there alone, had the need come up.

The thudding of Drifter’s heavy boots echoes in the dark as they are walking the twisted labyrinth of the Hellmouth’s back alleys. They are oddly empty, save for one unfortunate acolyte-guard who met his end by Eris’ dagger. Lately the Hidden Swarm seems even more hidden, and she does not take this as a good sign. The prospect of failure makes the Hive desperate; after Hashladȗn’s fall they would flood the Moon in a frantic attempt to maintain supremacy, hungry worms chewing on their ribs a sufficient incentive.

Something must have occurred. Something worth leaving the worms’ appetite unsated for a while, a repast more decent than scarce drips of blood they licked off the Moon’s vile rocks. If they are quiet, that means they are scheming.

“We could’ve gone through the temple, you know,” Drifter says, kicking a stone with his boot.

“If we wanted an entire cohort on our heels, then yes, we could have,” she scoffs in reply.

“Oh come on, Moondust! At least we’d have some fun. I’m bored to death.”

Eris only shakes her head, beads and pendant dangling from her cowl tinkling gently in the quiet darkness. Her fingers trace along the surface of the tunnel’s wall, coarse and wet with wormspore. The vile, dusty corridors of the Hellmouth still make her stomach tie up in knots – too similar to the rocks she once crawled amongst, face to the ground, inhaling the dirt. No matter how many times she would traverse them and how familiar their taste and texture would be; she keeps choking on that same lump of recollection in her throat with every step down.

Drifter’s stone springs out from under his boot and rolls away into the darkness. He glances after it wistfully.

“What are you really after, anyway? Hive eggs? A spare set of eyes?”

“Hadium, primarily.” She ignores the provocation and raises her orb higher to light the way. “And whatever else I might find valuable.”

Always scavenging, she thinks grimly, counting the knives in her sheath out of sheer worry. Always thinking, what if she found herself stranded here again? She knows these halls better than the shape of her dagger, better than the City streets she used to spend years wandering. She has prodded the festering Hive mass for long enough to map the soft spots, and her hands were quicker and steadier now, and her blade more ruthless. Was she trapped in the Pit with only what she had on herself, how would it play out now?

Before her paranoia gets a chance to truly unravel, it is cut short by a bloodcurdling shriek. It tears through the air and echoes down the dark tunnel, making what’s left of Eris’ hair stand on end.

“Someone’s got pretty strong lungs,” Drifter puts his hand over the holster.

“A new brood is hatching.” Eris narrows her eyes, listening. “The birthing chamber is not that far from here.”

“Little chittering Hivey kiddos? How sweet.”

“They will climb up your leg and pluck your eyes out with their tiny claws if you stop for long enough.”

“Adorable.”

She is right; the tunnel leads them to a dimly-lit corridor which they sneak through avoiding the crystalline lanterns poking out of the walls. It opens up into a tall chamber, completely dark if it was not for the gentle orange glow coming out of hundreds of pulsating eggs. Up above them, hanging from the walls and ceiling, countless cocoons pulsate along, a putrid rhythm of existence already fated to perish.

“That’s the, uh, nursery?” Drifter’s eyebrow shoots up.

“You could put it like that.” Eris is already kneeling under a wall, having spotted the silver shimmer of hadium clinging to the surface. “The brood is soon to hatch and plunge upon the feast of yolk and mucilage. Mind your head.”

“So they eat this stuff, yeah?” He pokes one of the eggs and watches the yellowish membrane bob in response. “Wonder what it tastes like…”

“Mushy.”

For a while, the quiet scrubbing of knife against chitin is the only sound in the humid darkness. Drifter has turned to examining wormspore climbing the walls and is jemmying one of the scabs with his nail when a sudden noise, like tearing parchment, alerts him. Just to the side, a tiny thrall – his skin still soft and translucent – is forcing its way through the amnion with claws the size of shoemaker needles. Once free, it jumps to the ground, straight on top of one of the eggs, and rips the membrane open. Orange goo spills out and the thrall almost falls inside.

“Hey, they’re—” Drifter is cut off by another one dropping from the ceiling just at his feet. Eris does not spare him a glance.

“When all are hatched, the spawn mother will come to take them for the ingestion ceremony. To feed them the freshly-bred worms. We do not have much time.”

“Help yourself, chief. I’m here to fire guns.”

Thrall are plopping to the floor and clawing at the eggs all around them. One crawls shyly towards Eris and nibbles the edge of her skirt; she picks it up by the scruff of the neck and tosses away with disinterest. Drifter watches it arch in the air and plop right into the orange pulp of an egg under the opposite wall.

When Eris finally rises from her work, satchel heavy with hadium, he is kneeling in the goo, his sleeves stained orange up to the elbows. Another screech shakes the walls, sounding definitely closer than she would like, and Drifter cocks his head to meet Eris’ admonitory glare.

“What’s this?”

He realises she is not staring at him but rather at the thrall in his arms, still soaking wet and licking the yolk off Drifter’s sleeves with a thin purple tongue.

“My dog.”

Eris shakes her head in annoyance, “Put that down and come. We must hurry.”

Hopping between the eggs and swarming thrall, she makes her way to the door without looking back. Drifter tucks the thrall under his coattail and follows her.

Leaving the chittering behind, they tiptoe through the corridor and nearly bump into an acolyte patrol; in the last second, Drifter grabs Eris’ forearm and drags her towards a shaded niche where they press their backs against the wall in a desperate attempt to blend in. He notices the glint of a blade, a long dagger in her hand ready to strike.

The patrol passes and they duck into the tunnel which has let them here in the first place. Dim light from the crystalline lamps fades with each step until they are in complete darkness, save for two sets of gleaming green eyes staring at each other intently.

Drifter coughs.

“I told you to drop that,” Eris barks, and the thrall chitters in return.

“Couldn’t leave such a sweet little—” He tries to protest but the rest of the sentence is drowned out by a definitely Hive-sounding scream, much closer than the last time. “That’s the mommy? Guess she’s mad about her kid, huh.”

“She can sense your Light all over the birthing chamber like fingerprints,” Eris’ voice is a threatening hiss, “Move!”

They pick up speed, not bothering about the crunching of their boots against the dirt anymore. Two acolytes and a knight jump out from around the corner and Drifter shoots them before they can even raise their Shredders, but Eris’ thoughts are racing at lightspeed. If the spawn mother is sending out knights, she is livid. There is no chance they are getting out of here the same way they came in.

Behind another corner sits a pile of rocks covered in spores and cobweb. Eris kicks them twice to reveal a small opening, the pitch-black tunnel it is leading to not much larger than the thrall. A map of these spaces spreads out in her mind as she fiercely pulls Drifter towards the entrance and begins crawling into the darkness.

Even on their knees, their backs are brushing against the ceiling. The stuffy air reeks of rot and a stray moth flutters panickily past Eris, almost sticking to her face. Drifter trudges behind her, every move followed by a muffled grunt, the thrall clinging to his shirt like a monkey and swinging gently with the pace.

They crawl out of the tunnel into one of the distant storage chambers, almost at ground level. Drifter wriggles himself out like a caterpillar with a pained scowl, but it promptly fades into a grin when he glances at the thrall still hanging at his chest by the claws.

“See? Wasn’t that bad!” He bops the tip of its muzzle and chuckles when the needle-like teeth chase his finger. “I’m thinking ‘bout naming it, but like... do they come in flavours? Can you tell if it’s a boy or a girl?”

“Yes.” Eris passes him, heading towards the exit. “But I won’t tell you.”

Drifter exchanges glances with the thrall, then shrugs and rushes after her. “Some neutral names, then. What’d ya think about Alex? Or Jules? You know, I used to know a guy at Hygiea, he ran a bar with absolutely the worst beer in the Reef, his daughter’s name was Paxton… And yeah, cool name and all, but _Light_ , she was so ugly—wouldn’t want for this little fella to grow up ugly, no?... And what about…”

**Author's Note:**

> What inspired this story was my internal brainstorm about whether it would be possible for a Hive to avoid getting a worm and what implications it would create. Could this rumination have yielded complex, lore-heavy analysis? Absolutely. Do I regret its fruit being but a dumb one-shot about them disaster coworkers? Not in the slightest.


End file.
